


We'll Do The Best We Know

by myomichan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myomichan/pseuds/myomichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short JeanMarco drabbles and one-shots. Usually loosely-connected AU's, but some will be canon-verse. Other ships if you squint. Will update bi-weekly.</p><p>005: They share a room, but they're still so very distant.<br/>009: What's the worst way you could meet your first love? Jean thinks it's the first day of college. But that's exactly what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> Jean hunches his shoulders a lot. Marco loves that about him.

He hunches his shoulders.

 

It's something you don't notice easily, mostly because he only does it while sitting down.

 

But still, Jean Kirschtein sits hunched over, shoulders scrunched up tightly on either side of him, back arched forward and muscles tensed to what has to be an uncomfortable degree. It's another reason why he doesn't really like sitting often -- Jean gets antsy easily, eager to stand and stretch and see the world. Staying for too long in that position leaves him with many sore and tense muscles. Jean would much prefer to be up and about, doing something that requires kinetic energy, and lots of it.

 

Marco can't help but love Jean's strange way of sitting. If it can even be called "sitting," the way he arches sometimes when he's really focused on something. He'll lean forward so much, gaze intense and brow furrowed, that his nose very nearly touches whatever book he's reading or homework he's trying to finish. When Jean is that intent on something, his hands cup around the object of his attention, pulling it even closer, and at the right angle, Jean almost looks like he's sleeping. Almost. 

 

Marco loves that about Jean. He appears to be so many things, but he's so much more in reality. And it makes Marco fall for him all over again, ten times harder, every time he sees Jean stooped over to look at something.


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're just reflections of each other, if you know to look in a mirror.

He curses a lot.

 

Of course, everyone knows that about him. He doesn't always mean to, but oftentimes the words just slip from his tongue before he can reel them back in time. He does try not to offend anyone. He really does. It just doesn't always work out that way.

 

But Jean has one heck of a potty mouth, and it's so different from Marco's that some people wonder how they can tolerate each other's presence. Marco isn't innocent, but he's an angel compared to Jean. 

 

Neither of them thinks that way about it, though.

 

They see themselves in each other. Jean sees a kind guy who's all too gullible and far too willing to help others. Jean is like that. He recognizes this in Marco, and he embraces it. Marco sees Jean as a boy just struggling to find himself and his place in the world. Marco's an artist, and he's always struggling to find himself and his place in the world. They're reflections of each other, in this sense. They have the same problems, and together, they can accept them, because they accept them in their mirror.

 

They're two peas from a pod, and anyone who says otherwise is just fooling themself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading this chapter as well! I'm again very flattered to know you thought it worth your time to read this, so thank you very much for that!
> 
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome, as well as critiques and advice. Later!


	3. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time often escapes him, but he doesn't regret its loss.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

 

One.

 

It sometimes happens that Marco finds himself online, clicking aimlessly on his mouse, going back and forth between Facebook and Tumblr. He doesn't know why he stays up so late sometimes. He just does. Time gets away from him, numbers dripping softly like water from his dorm room's leaky sink faucets, something that just becomes a familiar and forgettable backdrop sound. Only the faucets don't do much harm. The time on the other hand -- oh, he certainly could use that time. For school and sleep.

 

But when he does stay up that late, he doesn't regret it, and he usually has company.

 

Jean's a night owl who works odd hours and sleeps at even odder ones. The only reason they know each other is because they shared a class or two back in high school. Despite that, they're really close. To a strangely endearing degree. And whenever Marco stays up this late, Jean always skypes him. 

 

1:00 A.M. on the dot. Like folks waiting in Times Square on New Year's Eve, Jean sits at his computer watching like a hawk for 1:00 to arrive. He always calls Marco then. Marco knows he does it like that because Connie's mentioned it to him before. It makes Marco smile to think of it.

 

Like clockwork, Skype interrupts Marco's social networking with an incoming call, and Marco accepts.

 

"Hey."

 

Marco smiles at the familiarity with which they greet each other now. Early on, when they'd only just become friends, they'd always made sure the other wasn't busy or unable to talk. By this point, though, they know each other's schedules without having to ask. Marco isn't busy. Neither is Jean. 

 

"Hi."

 

As the morning grows older, Marco regrets nothing, and time drips away -- drip, drip, drip -- while Marco and Jean talk about nothing and everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm so happy you did.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are welcome!
> 
> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed~!
> 
> P.S. I'm updating tomorrow because I have something special for Red Beanie Thursday. ;)


	4. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He waits outside while the snow falls lightly around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it red beanie thursday. have a red beanie.

He'd never seen snow before.

 

If you could even call it that. It was certainly not a flurry. There were no snowflakes. The snow drifted down almost like rain, landing softly in the grass. It didn't stay long; already, Marco could see that the ground was soaked in puddles of melted snow. 

 

Marco was waiting outside. The snow was unexpected -- the weatherman had said the temperatures wouldn't drop below the mid 30's -- but it posed no real problems. Marco breathed, staring at the puff of air that trailed out from his lips before dissipating into its surroundings, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His coat was warm, at least. The red beanie on his head was comfortable and snug, as was the scarf wrapped around his neck. He'd spent quite a bit of time putting together his outfit for today. Of course, it didn't really matter, but then again, it couldn't hurt to put more effort into his appearance for the occasion, right? Marco was prone to giving small details great attention, but it wasn't without reason or merit. At the very least, he could assure himself that he looked stylish and cute, which was all he could really hope for, after all.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he hastily pulled it out. 

 

It was from Jean.

 

here. u?

 

Marco grinned. He didn't bother responding with a text, instead opting to call Jean instead.

 

"Hey, I'm here. Where a--"

 

"I'm waiting outside the front entrance of my dorm, you doofus," Marco said, again shifting his weight. "Where'd you park? We can meet halfway."

 

"Um. I'm not sure." Pause. "Is your dorm the really tall one with the red roof?"

 

Marco rolled his eyes.

 

"Are you parked in a lot, or the garage?" he asked.

 

"Garage," Jean replied immediately. 

 

"On my way," Marco breathed, jogging. "Wait out front for me." He hung up. The snow brushed his face lightly as he picked up speed. There was only one garage on campus that gave you a clear view of the dorms, and it was the biggest one nearby. He ran the distance, ignoring the growing burns in his legs that told him he should really exercise more often, until he caught sight of that unmistakable mop of light brown hair and darker undercut.

 

"Jean!" 

 

Jean looked up, eyes wide and grin growing wider, and he moved forward, arms outstretched to catch Marco as he dove at him, wrapping him in a big embrace.

 

"Marco!" laughed his friend, his baritone resonating in Marco's ear. Marco grinned and nuzzled his head against Jean's; Jean let out a happy huff and returned the gesture.

This was a moment they'd both been looking forward to for weeks. Long-distance relationships were tough, especially when both individuals involved were students at different universities, but none of that mattered as they held each other close. They stayed like that for a few moments, just enjoying each other's warmth and company.

 

"Did you not check the forecast today?" Marco said finally, pulling away to look at Jean. The brown-haired boy shrugged, shivering in spite of his seeming indifference. His thin long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans weren't doing much to protect him against the cold. 

 

"Shut up! The hotel was warm, so I didn't think it'd be cold outside." Jean's ears were red from the cold, but Marco noticed them redden as he spoke. Cute. Marco loved Jean's ears, especially when they exposed Jean's embarrassment.

 

Without a second thought, Marco took his beanie off his head and shoved it onto Jean's. "Come on, let's go upstairs and get something warm to eat."

 

Jean blinked, still taken off guard by Marco's sudden action, and nodded. 

 

"Sure."

 

Their hands met, and even though he wasn't still fully recovered from his run over, Marco pulled Jean along at a jog. 

 

"You're never getting this back, y'know," Jean said, touching the beanie lightly with his thumb. Marco shrugged. They laughed together, getting distracted before reaching the dorms, and wound up tumbling through the wet grass.

 

And they shared a warm kiss as the snow fell lightly around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kudos, everyone! I'm so thrilled you enjoyed this!
> 
> And thanks for sticking around to read this chapter, too~! I hope you liked it. It's longer than the others. Because. Red Beanie Thursday. Ye.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome, so feel free to give them to me if you so desire. :) Thank you very much for reading!!


	5. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They share a room, but they're still so very distant.

Clean? Hah! 

 

Please. 

 

Jean Kirschtein is not a man who worries about cleanliness. He doesn't see the difference between yesterday's half-eaten biscuit and last month's half-eaten biscuit, and if he tastes it, he makes no mention of it. The pants he pulls on in the morning could have been the same pair he'd been wearing for a week, or a fresh pair that somehow wound up on the floor along with the rest of his clothes. There's a desk somewhere beneath those tall piles of papers and notes, but he's given up on finding it. His chair is littered with various hoodies and jackets, and his bookshelves are crammed with albums and books in no particular order. His posters, each one just slightly tilted off-center, are all crammed on one half of his wall so that it looks as messy as the rest of his side of the dorm room does.

 

It's almost comical. An observer could probably draw a line, the exact separation of their sides of the room is so obvious. Jean's various articles and belonging don't cross onto Marco's side. 

 

It's actually quite a stark contrast. Marco's desk is pristine, notebooks stacked neatly beside his computer, printer placed to the side and fully loaded with crisp white paper for printing essays and homework assignments. He makes his bed every morning, and all his clothes are put away in the closet they supposedly share but only Marco uses. His drawers hold school supplies, bags, and other miscellaneous objects, all arranged in a logical fashion. His books are sorted alphabetically on his shelves, you can actually tell Marco's chair is, in fact, a chair and not a coat rack, and he has glow-in-the-dark stars that curl artistically around the walls on his side of the room. 

 

Marco sometimes has the urge to re-arrange Jean's side of the room, so that the line separating them isn't so defined. But he can't bring himself to do it. The line is Jean's way of showing respect, showing he cares about Marco's space, and even though Marco would prefer less space between them (or, perhaps, none at all), he simply can't bring himself to breach that respect. He cares too much.

 

Marco stares at the ceiling one night, feeling very alone. It's a weekend, and Jean somehow managed to fall asleep before Marco for once. His stars glow, yellow-green against pitch black, and he feels so small compared to everything. The complete darkness on the other side of the room makes his heart ache and yearn.

 

Maybe, one day, he can find a way to fill that darkness. Because he really, really cares about Jean. They're so close, but Marco still longs for closer. But the darkness and space persist.

 

The next day, Marco convinces Jean to buy some glow-in-the-dark stars of his own, and that night, even though they lay in separate beds, Marco is closer to Jean than he's ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told ya I'd update weekly~! :) Although why I'm up writing at 7:00 AM in the morning, I will never understand...


	6. Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't mean to see Jean half-naked. It just sort of... happens.

It's not like Marco means to always see Jean half-naked.

 

I mean, yeah, okay, he doesn't mind it, but he isn't intentionally seeking it out. It just... Happens.

 

He honestly thinks he suffers more for it, though, since any time he stumbles in to see a shirtless Jean tugging on his pants, Marco feels himself turning beat red, blood rushing all over his body, heart stopping and then pounding ten times faster, churning his insides, tying them in knots, and it's all he can do to turn around and quickly choke out an apology before stumbling back out.

 

He's just escaped from one of these moments. He was meeting with Reiner to talk about homework, and Reiner had football practice, and Marco was waiting in the locker rooms for him -- and in bounds Jean, ripping his shirt off, laughing, covered in dirt and sweat from soccer practice -- and then their eyes met, and Marco just sort of froze as he took in Jean's form. And then Jean's mouth opened -- probably to ask him what he was doing in there -- and Marco panicked and scrambled out of the locker rooms as fast as he could, mind swirling in emotions and attraction, and -- god.

 

He doesn't mean to see Jean half-naked.

 

But Marco will not deny that Jean's half-naked body is hot. Like, so-hot-he-must-have-been-sent-from-the-gods kinda hot. And he does enjoy seeing it.

 

But he wishes it could be under better circumstances.

 

Marco waits awkwardly outside the locker room for Reiner, but it's Jean who comes barreling out the doors a few minutes later, moving like a man ready to race a cheetah. He nearly runs past a startled Marco, but backtracks, coming to a stop in front of him, just a bit breathless. And Marco still can't form a coherent thought, so he doesn't dare attempt coherent words, and then Jean beats him to it.

 

"You waited."

 

Marco is not expecting this, but he nods anyway. Of course he waited. He had to meet with Reiner.

 

Jean cracks a relieved grin.

 

"That's good."

 

Marco doesn't know how to explain the way his heart blooms with adoration for that relieved look on Jean's face. He knows he should probably say something to Jean now. But he doesn't want to break the moment. It feels very intimate: it's just the two of them, standing close together in an empty high school hallway outside the boys locker rooms. Marco doesn't want to break this very tender thing between them right now.

So he takes a shallow breath and holds his feelings inside. And hopes for better circumstances, someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading~! The comments and kudos have difinitely made me happy. :D


	7. Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07: Jean was looking forward to a long, fun summer with his friends. Maybe even a summer romance with Mikasa! He grinned at the thought and logged onto his Skype, waiting for Marco to get online.
> 
> ...He never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a req by Jessi_hime. Heads up: this is sad. No death, but there is a coma. So. Yeah.

He left his shirt.

Jean hadn't expected to return home to find a shirt haphazardly thrown across the bed where it had been discarded. He froze when he saw it. For a split second, his heart forgot how to beat.

Then...

"Marco!" he half-groaned, half-laughed. "Dumb shit!" He let out a boisterous laugh and picked the shirt up, tossing it into his dirty clothes basket. Then he flopped back onto his bed.

The sleepover had been fun, he mused happily to himself as he stared up at the roof. They'd had a late night of videogames and scary movies, and then they curled up in bed together. The space between them wasn't an issue: best friends don't /have/ space between them. That must have been when Marco took his shirt off, Jean realized, sitting up. He stood and picked the shirt up from the basket. Yup. Definitely the shirt Marco had worn yesterday. It had that stupid trumpet on it, along with a Hoenn map. He shook his head. His friend wore it out of excitement. The news for the new game had come out two days before, and Marco was a hardcore Pokemon fanboy. 

Jean chuckled, putting the shirt back down. He flopped back on his bed, glancing at the clock on his table-side desk. It was barely noon! He sighed, dragging himself to his laptop and then dragging it back up onto the bed with him.

He'd have to wait until Marco got home for boredom to go away. They were high schoolers just on summer break, and Jean was looking forward to a long, fun summer with his friends. Maybe even a summer romance with Mikasa! He grinned at the thought and logged onto his Skype, waiting for Marco to get online.

He never did.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Silhouetted against the light streaming through the window, the sunflowers and daffodils looked radiant.

The room was white. Not a pristine white. The paint was faded from age. The floor tiles were chipped and stained. Besides, there were too many cords and blinking colors for the white to be _really_ white.

Jean scooted his chair closer to his best friend's bed.

"Heya," he said softly. "Sorry I wasn't here earlier." He shifted forward. "School started today, you know."

Marco didn't respond. 

"Everyone was excited, but at the same time, none of us were as worked up about it as we used to get." He huffed. "Guess it comes with age, or something. Maybe we've just been one too many years. I don't know." Hesitation. "It isn't the same without you. Science is gonna be shit." Sigh. "Yeah... I missed you in science. I don't know who'll be my lab partner. I guess Mina. But. You know. It's not the same. Plus, Mina and Annie usually pair off, so... I don't know." Trailing off again. "Yeah. So. Just." Pause. "That's pretty much how my day went."

God, how could he keep doing this? Jean bit his lip. It took so much out of him to come here every day. To look down at his practically _lifeless_ friend, to talk to him, to tell him how he was _supposed_ to be moving on with life, but _couldn't._ To see the scars and try not to cringe when thinking about how painful it must have been to lose that eye, to lose so much of his body. 

"...Why'd you have to go and leave like this?" he whispered. Barely audible. He wasn't sure if Marco could honestly hear anything he said, really. How would he know? There were no outward signs that Marco understood a thing. The doctors said he probably would never wake up again. If he did, he wouldn't be the Marco he knew anymore.

His fists clenched in his lap.

"I miss you." He awkwardly searched for another topic, all too eager to move on from what was painful. "I washed your Hoenn shirt. I'm taking good care of it for you." He laughed sheepishly. "Sometimes I wear it. It still smells like you, no matter how much I clean it?" Not that he honestly washed it _that_ often, but still. "Not the you-in-a-hospital smell, either. The you-after-rolling-out-of-bed smell. Is it weird I know your smell?" He shrugged. "I bet you know mine, too, so it can't be that strange. Anyways, yeah. I wear it sometimes. It's really big on me. You really are taller than me. Y'know? A whole lot taller." He refused to say "bigger," but that went unspoken between them. It was a matter they had closed long ago, and Jean was still jealous about it. "I, uh, brought some stupid flowers, and shit, again. Uh. I added sunflowers to the collection. Yeah." Trail off. "But yeah, the shirt. I've been sleeping with it, actually. Using it as a night shirt." Laugh. "It's really comfy, okay? I get why you like it so much. It's... nice." Sigh. "Sometimes when I'm waking up with it, though, I smell you, and I think, 'Oh, he's back...' But..." Trail off. Sigh. "Yeah. Anyways. I, uh, I need to wash it again tonight, I guess." Wrong. He didn't wash that shirt unless he had to. He was too scared that Marco's scent would wash off. "So, uh... Yeah."

Later that night, lying in his bed, Marco's smell just barely there, Jean felt an unbearable sadness weigh down upon him.

Summer was officially over.


	8. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco can't help but laugh when he thinks of his Rosina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I COULDN'T DEAL WITH THE ANGST OF LAST CHAPTER so I wrote a cute fluff to make up for it. 
> 
> (If you're curious, the opera is The Barber of Seville. I love opera, and this is a particularly lovely one to start with if you've never seen one before. Plus, just imagine it. Eren singing the Figaro song. Such passion. Much power.)

The stage lights are bright as he stands in the wing. Blindingly so. He know's it's going to be hot out there. The overture is coming to a close. It's nearly Act I. Meaning he has to prance on stage excitedly with a band of other hooligans he's paid to try and serenade his true love below her balcony. (At least, that's the story. Marco does his best to become his character, to not think of themselves as separate people.)

But all he feels right now are nerves. 

Because the man he actually would like to serenade is in that audience, somewhere. And even though he's supposed to be serenading Rosina, he's also sort of serenading Jean. Because this is the first time Jean's been to an opera, and the first time Jean's going to hear Marco sing full-force, and he really, _really_ wants him to like it. This is what Marco lives for. Singing. Performing. Following the whimsical plotlines of operas and singing his heart out to a crowd of listeners. He thrives under the blaring stage lights, and when he looks out into the audience, he's energized. He can't make out faces -- with the lights above him, he can barely see the ambiguous blobs of gray that are the people in the front row -- but he can feel the energy they radiate, can feel their eyes trained on him, enraptured as his arias and recitative fill the opera house.

This is what he lives for, lives off of, and he hopes Jean understands that when he sees him out there. 

But what if he doesn't? Jean's a painter, but Marco sometimes honestly doesn't understand how Jean has managed to cultivate his artistic side. Jean Kirschtein is a blunt guy who talks like a politician and drives like a drunkard. He's the kind of guy you'd expect to meet at a high-class party, wine glass in hand and pompous act full-throttle. How Jean became interested in developing an intimate, delicate relationship with art is beyond Marco, because neither of those things describes Jean at all. Not externally, at least. Jean's rugged looks and crooked smile practically scream bad-boy, and his clothes and swagger indicate money and arrogance. But Jean is actually quite profound. His art is always riddled with subtle nods to high literature and peppered with insight, challenging the conventional while prodding at the human situation. Outwardly, Jean honestly looks like he doesn't give a shit, but he really does.

Marco licks his lips.

He can't worry about whether Jean will understand Marco's passion now, because there's his cue and now he's hurrying forward into position and then the red curtain sails up and oh god oh god oh god--

It's a good thing they've rehearsed this thing so much that he could sing it in his sleep, because he's acting on muscle memory now. Smiling into the throng of lights and grey blobs, he opens his mouth and begins to sing. 

And it calms him. Falling into the story is so easy, it really is, especially when he's with the others. Marco's a people person, and working with his fellow singers helps him calm down, gives him a sense of purpose. Suddenly it's not about trying to impress Jean, it's about trying to woo Rosina without her annoying caretaker noticing him. It's about conspiring with Figaro to sneak into Rosina's house and steal her away, about spending time with the one he loves, and the music swirls all around him and inside him. Perhaps his passion isn't as thought-provoking and deep as Jean's is, but it's just as personal. And Marco's interaction with his audience is literal, in the flesh, and in the moment, and that's what makes it truly invigorating for him. The people. The way he can play off the audience's involvement, the way he can make them laugh and cheer and cry. The way he can feel raw emotion, powerful emotion, and the way he can share it with his audience. When he's singing, they hang on his every word, on his every note, and he in turn hangs on their every reaction, their every expectation. It's a beautiful thing. And it gives him so much hope and fills him with so much love.

When the opera's over, it's like waking up suddenly from a pleasant dream. A sudden jolt. The music stops, there's a beat of silence, and Marco swears he can't even hear his own heart beating. He forces himself to keep smiling, to hold his pose with Rosina held at his side, to keep his eyes from straying and glancing at the silent audience. He doesn't dare breathe.

And then, rapturous applause. His grin widens. The curtain falls, and he drops his pose. Mina beside him pats his shoulder, and they share a quick hug. She's his leading lady, and besides Jean, she knows him most intimately. She's also one of his best friends, so she knows why he's trembling now. Dressed in a brilliant red dress that matches the bright red blush she has to wear, hair twirled into a simple but elegant hairbun, she looks stunningly brilliant as she rolls her eyes at him.

"Stop worrying," she says. Her voice is a little strained, because she definitely oversang at the end, but her happiness outshines that. His worry ebbs a bit. "You were great."

"Thanks," He tell her. He's sincere. Her encouragement helps him tremble a little less. "You were great, too."

She smiles, opening her mouth to speak, but then the stage manager is calling them and the curtain rises again. It's time to take their bows. The minor roles go out first, one after the other, until it's their turn. Mina and Marco charge on stage together, arms linked, and the applause grows thunderous. They reach center stage. She takes a step forward and curtsies, and all their friends and holler and whistle appreciatively. Then she steps back, and his heart hammers in his chest. He steps forward.

"MARCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

His eyes widen and his grin grows so wide it hurts his cheeks when he hear Jean's scream above the applause. And suddenly there are yells and whistles and hollers and all Marco can do is bow and step back as the applause overwhelms him. It drowns out individual voices. All he can hear is the sound of hands clapping, clapping, clapping, and it fills his heart with so much joy. Mina tugs his hand softly, and together they step backwards to make way for Figaro (a.k.a. Eren Jaeger, whose entrance song was sung with such gusto that when he finished the conductor had to hold the orchestra until the applause died down). The stage manager and production staff also appeared on stage with them, but Marco keeps his eyes straight forward, scouring the grey blobs for any sign of Jean. He knows it's probably futile, but he searches anyway. Could that be him? That figure over there seems about his size, but he can't be sure -- and that one over there draws his attention -- but something like his voice echoes from over there -- and --

\--And the curtain suddenly blocks Marco's view. He blinks. He's been so wrapped up in finding Jean that he hasn't noticed the curtain lowering. Mina lets go of his hand.

"Come on, let's get outta here!"

Marco nods to her. Eren quickly joins them as they leave, and Mikasa is waiting on the wings, violin in hand and red scarf around her neck.

"You rocked the Figaro's," Marco tells Eren. The brown-haired boy grins back at him.

"You were great out there, too," Eren replies. "You were so involved, when we were singing together, it was like it was real!"

Mikasa tugs on Eren's sleeve. "Change out of your costume," she instructs, interrupting the conversation. Eren frowns and makes some sort of sassy comment, but Marco is already sliding past him towards the changing rooms. Behind him, Mina laughs. 

"Let's rendezvous in the lobby!" she calls to his retreating form. He waves hurriedly to show he's heard her and practically peels his outfit off as soon as he reaches the changing rooms. As soon as he's dressed, he follows a side entrance out of the stage area. 

The lobby is packed. He meanders through the crowd, accepting congratulations and compliments from fellow music students and proud professors and the odd compliment from random listeners. It's slow-going, _painfully_ so, but eventually he catches sight of distinctive two-toned hair.

"Jean!"

His friend wheels around, surprised.

Marco's laughing, and they're both hurrying towards each other, and then Jean sweeps him into a tight hug. Marco can only hug him back, heart pounding lightning-fast in his chest.

"That was amazing," Jean says into Marco's shoulder. " _You're_ amazing."

Marco feels his affection for Jean overflowing, and he pulls away and manages the brightest smile he's capable of.

"Thank you," he says, because the look of awe and delight on Jean's face is all he needs to know.

Jean understood. He got it.

And he thinks Marco's amazing for it.

Later, their friends go out to celebrate, but under the moonlight and bathed in the light pouring from the opera house's entrance-way, the two of them share awkward but heartfelt confessions and equally heartfelt kisses.

Marco can't help but laugh when he thinks to himself that he actually did manage to woo his Rosina.


	9. Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the worst way you could meet you first love?  
> Jean thinks it's the first day of college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda just wrote this. >_>'' Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been figuring myself and my life out. Hope you like the update!

            What's the worst way you could meet your first love?

            Jean thinks it's the first day of college.

            It's cliche and blase and ridiculous and convenient, but it's the truth, and Jean hates it, but he can't change it. He accepted it and lived with it.

            He was running, fast. It all happened so quickly. He bumped into someone, fell over, and there, in front of him, asking him if he was okay, was his first love.

            Black hair, beautiful grey eyes, pink, full lips, and a look of concern on her face.

            Mikasa Ackerman was his first love.

            He'd had crushes in high school, the kind where you tease and poke and pretend it's mature and full, but he'd never really _loved_ someone, not like he did Mikasa Ackerman. That day he fell, he fell _hard._ His whole heart broke completely free of his chest that morning and hopped right into Mikasa's hands.

            She was beautiful, and she was oblivious.

            She had eyes for Eren Jaeger, and _boy_ , did it make Jean hate the boys guts. How dare he treat Mikasa like just another friend? How could he be so _blind_ , to not see what was right in front of him, to not understand what he was missing, _who_ he was missing, and how much he'd _kill_ to be in Eren's shoes? And when Eren did finally notice her, Jean flipped. They got into a fight that day, real bloody and gruesome. They needed stitches afterwards, and casts, and they had to stay overnight in the same damn room at the hospital, the both of them, and Mikasa threw herself onto Eren's hospital bed when they finally let her in to see him.

            Mikasa broke his heart that day. When she flung herself at Eren, she flung Jean's heart right out that fifth story window at the hospital, threw it straight into the wind.

            Jean thought he'd never find it again.

            You know the most cliche way to find your _true_ love, in Jean's opinion?

            At your first love's wedding.

            He somehow found the courage to go. To watch Eren and Mikasa give themselves to each other, to watch them kiss, to know she was gone forever, and to somehow throw rice at the retreating couple and give them best wishes.

            And after it was over, he went straight to the bar and got drunk.

            He met his true love there, too drunk to really make out any real features, world spinning, hearing coming in and out, liquid burning down his throat and searing his stomach as he threw back another shot. Someone asked him something about a ride home, and Jean blindly agreed, too out of it to think properly and barely able to process the fact that he'd have to call for a taxi to drive him back to the church to pick up his car the next day.

            He woke up hungover in another man's bed.

             The man, in question, was a pre-med student, a friend of Armin's. Black hair, brown eyes, freckles galore, and a dorky grin that was practically permanently etched onto his face. He'd seen the sorry, sorry state Jean had been in and taken him back to his place to watch over him. He helped Jean as he recovered from his pathetically painful hangover, called the cab, went with him to fetch his car, and drove it back for him. Jean was in way too much pain to be embarrassed by any of it, and took it in stride.

            Marco and him kept in touch. Whenever Marco was free, they hung out. it started with going out for drinks and progressed to going out to movies and then, sort of out of the blue, under the night sky as he and Marco were walking back to the car after seeing some film about big, weird monsters that ate humans, he kissed Marco.

            Marco had been laughing at something Jean had said, and Jean had an impulse to kiss him, and so he did.

            Marco had stared back, surprised, for what felt like years, before smiling softly and continuing the conversation.

            Jean thought he'd been rejected, until he felt Marco's hand slip gently into his own.

            And that's when he found his heart again. Mikasa had given it to someone who repaired it, took care of it, and gave it back with that tiny gesture.

            You know the most cliche way to find your _true_ love, in Jean's opinion?

            At your first love's wedding.

            It's cliche and blase and ridiculous and convenient, but it was what it was, and Jean knows he can't change it.

            And wouldn't even if he could, because, to be completely honest, he likes cliche.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for taking time out of your day to read this! I'm very flattered~
> 
>  
> 
> Please, do leave suggestions and requests in comments. I will happily do drabbles on prompts if you give them to me. :)


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